


Mère Poule

by Emono



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Medical Procedures, Needles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-19 23:46:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9465935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emono/pseuds/Emono
Summary: Eugene has a later-life diagnosis of Type 1 diabetes and his boyfriend, Babe, helps him take care of himself because we all know Eugene won't take care of himself.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this is super self indulgent but I've been a big cry baby about my diabetes lately so I decided to post this. I wrote it at my doc visits and it sorta helped me through a hump so, uh, enjoy??

Eugene’s shifts at the hospital should’ve absolutely qualified for board-certified _abuse_. Babe was helpless to watch his boyfriend shuffle off to the bus every morning and then disappear, for sometimes two or three days at a time, before returning almost shell shocked. There were cots at the hospital along with a rec room and showers but it wasn’t the same as their cozy apartment. Eugene’s internship paid next to nothing and when he wasn’t doing that he was volunteering to clock in long hours at the clinic. Babe went into their relationship with his eyes wide open. He knew Eugene was dedicated to his residency program and long-standing dream of being a doctor. His angel wanted to help people and Babe supported him in every way.

 

It also helped that Babe was a natural provider and grade-A mother hen. Especially when it came to his pretty boyfriend who he was absolutely over-the-moon in love with. And Bill. But mostly because Bill did anything anyone dared him to and needed a voice of reason.

 

Eugene had fought his caretaking at first of course. But Babe was both insistent and obnoxiously loud, and maybe a little sly sometimes. Babe made up sandwiches and put them in the fridge for when Eugene got home from the hospital. He bought fresh fruit, chips, made big batches of soups, and anything else easy to eat because he _knew_ Eugene would choose sleep over cooking a meal every time.

 

But Babe did all of that with the mindset to keep things as low carb as possible. He’d been doing it for the almost full two years they’d been together but even then, he _still_ felt like a jackass in the market as he checked labels. Eugene needed the diet despite how he pointedly didn’t talk about it around their friends or anyone else. He had diabetes, Type 1, and keeping the food in the house low carb meant that Eugene could eat more per meal without having to shove an overly long shot of insulin into himself. But there were still a bunch of rules to follow that Eugene often ignored.

 

It was good that Babe happened to be _determined_ along with insistent and obnoxiously loud though. He went on Eugene’s check up visits and took notes, did his research, learned everything he could to help out when Eugene was too tired to do it himself. Babe was grateful the man loved him and put up with him enough to let him tag along. It hadn’t been like that the first year but as the months went on and Eugene realized that Babe wasn’t going to bolt, he let him come.

 

Two years into this and Babe was sending holiday cards to Eugene’s endocrinologist and even a few of the regular nurses. They were a team, after all. Bonded together in solidarity to keep the stubborn future doctor healthy.

 

Unfortunately, Eugene was too busy following his dream, proving himself, and taking care of _literally_ everyone else to see to his own health. But that’s why he had Babe.

 

o0o

 

Eugene flopped on the bed with his kit and let out a world weary sigh. He was so hungry his stomach felt like it was eating itself but he knew he needed to be good. Babe always gave him those kicked-puppy eyes when he didn’t take a shot. That shouldn’t have been the only reason. He was on his way to being a doctor for Heaven’s sake, he knew about blood toxicity and complications from running high blood sugar.

 

Edward “Call Me Babe” Heffron and his pout shouldn’t have been his only incentive to take care of himself but here he was, with his shot, not wanting to disappoint his partner.

 

He stuffed the bottom of his shirt into his mouth to expose his stomach and then his hands went to work prepping the new pen he’d pulled from the fridge. He’d already tested - **_241_ ** the screen had flashed with a ketone warning - and he knew that meant a large dose. The longer the shot time the more chance that it would burn, sting, or outright hurt. Especially if his hands shook.

 

Eugene had literally put his hands inside of people and yet one, itty-bitty needle and sting had him all trembly. At least they were steady at work.

 

Without thinking too much, Eugene screwed the cap on the end, took off the plastic covers, clicked the pen to thirteen units, and pinched a bit of his stomach. He eased the needle in with a noisy breath through his nose. But when he pushed the plunger it went much too fast.

 

“ _Putain_ ,” Eugene cursed around the damp mouthful of cloth, kicking himself in the ass for not remember that a new pen had to be _prepped_. The first couple “units” were just shooting blanks. He thought of fishing out another needle and doing a second shot but just grunted ‘fuck it’ and clicked the pen around for five more units before shoving it about half an inch below the first injection site.

 

Eugene managed to give himself the full dose before he took the needle out and chucked the whole thing off the bed. He cried out as a sharp, hot pain went through his tender belly. Aggravation mixed with his rage and churned up frustrated tears that stung his eyes. He immediately drew his legs up and wrapped his arms around his middle, whining before simply falling over into the pillows.

 

He wasn’t sure how long he laid there curled up on himself just staring at the bedspread. He counted the patterns and tried to fend off a slew of dark thoughts but they always won when he was on edge like this. He’d been on call all week and he’d spent five out of the seven nights  catching naps at the hospital instead of being home with one of the few people in the world who genuinely gave a shit about him.

 

And the residents were so Goddamn _mean_ and treated him like dirt just because they needed to weed out the weak. _I’m not weak, I’m just…_

 

Broken.

 

A hand splayed across his hip and he tried not to sob. “Whatcha’ doin’ in here, angel?”

 

“Wondering what it would be like to be dead,” Eugene admitted lowly.

 

He heard Babe hiss and it was just one more guilt to add to his pile of shame.

 

“You don’t mean that.”

 

“Not to die,” Eugene clarified dully. “Just to be dead. Maybe just three days.”

 

Babe snuffed in amusement behind him. “So, like, asleep?”

 

“Death without the commitment.”

 

His shirt was pushed up a little and Babe kissed his hip. “Did the shot hurt?”

 

“Don’t hurt no more. Just-” _Being a whiny little crybaby._

 

“Good.” Another kiss. “Food’s ready. Got you a plate made up. Let’s go.” He groaned and curled up tighter. “Come on now.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Okay _get up_ , not _okay_ wallow here.”

 

o0o0o0o

 

Babe worked at Bill’s garage. It had been a temporary job while Babe figured out what he wanted to do with his life and he’d stayed when he’d fallen in love with the smell of engine oil and the satisfaction of a customer in tears when he presented them their fixed vehicle. It was something he’d caught on to and took some night school to learn more about. He wanted to be useful to Bill and not just a favor. The guys at the garage assured him all the time that he was more than earning his keep and even if he was useless they liked him too much to let him go.

 

It was a fun job with his buddies where he got to work with his hands and make a difference.

 

Babe was tired, right down to his bones, after a seven day week but he had two days off in a row and a fat paycheck coming to him. He kicked off his shoes and dumped his keys, wallet, and sunglasses into the glass bowl by the door. He shuffled to the kitchen and made a noise of surprise and delight when he opened the fridge to see two boxes of pizza that hadn’t been there when he’d left. The top box had his name on it in sharpie along with a little heart.

 

Babe’s smile gradually faded as he took out his box and checked the other one. Eugene had only had his diagnosis for a few years thanks to a lack of money growing up and a misdiagnosis of Type 2 with a doctor who needed to be hung up and shot for malpractice. Eugene had been so used to eating whatever and however much he wanted for so long that changing his diet had just left him exasperated. Babe could understand the temptation and tried to just passively keep “good” foods in the house, but he was pretty fucking sure Eugene wasn’t supposed to polish off an entire extra large pie all by himself. There were only two slices left and he _knew_ Eugene had only been home a few hours. He was pretty damn sure that much pizza would’ve fucked up even a healthy person’s sugar.

 

Babe put a beer in the freezer, turned the oven on super low, tossed his box in, and then went on his manhunt.

 

He stalked to the bedroom and found Eugene predictably passed out face down in the bed stripped to just his boxers. Soft little snores left him with every other breath but it wasn’t adorable enough to douse Babe’s irritation. It _was_ enough to gentle his tone and make him carefully crawl into the bed instead of jumping on it.

 

“Hey,” Babe cooed as he rubbed a hand over his boyfriend’s back. “Gene? Angel?”

 

Eugene murmured something and wiggled faintly. “Aye?”

 

“You take enough insulin to cover all that pizza?”

 

“Fuckin’ hungry,” Eugene grunted. “Eighteen hour shift. No break.”

 

“You couldn’t of had some fruit or baked a chicken or somethin’ to go with it?” Babe scolded lightly. “Got plenty of stuff like that in the fridge.”

 

Eugene pulled his face out of the pillow and Babe flinched at the way those candy pink lips were pulled into an ugly snarl. “You are _not_ my mother, Edward.”

 

“You’re lucky I didn’t call your mother,” Babe bit out hotly. “ ‘Cause if you’d taken your meds you wouldn’t be so Goddamn defensive.”

 

Eugene cussed at him in French and sat up, whipping up the pillow and smack him right in the face with it. “Get _out_.”

 

Babe held up his hands in defense and tried not to let the hurt from the outburst sink in. Eugene was scowling at him but his eyes were bloodshot and the dark smudges under his eyes were worse than they’d been earlier in the week. He looked beyond exhausted. Babe got off the bed and backed off. “Alright, alright. You know you best.”

 

Babe closed the door over as he walked out. “Stubborn ass.”

 

“ _Mère poule_ ,” Eugene shot back. Even muffled through the door it sounded like a curse.

 

o0o

 

Babe ate his pizza and couldn’t be too mad at Eugene since he’d ordered his favorite combo from one of the better delivery places. He got into his sweats and caught the end of a hockey game with his second beer. He flicked through some trash TV afterward and just relaxed. The blanket Eugene’s mom had sent him for Christmas was the best throw and he draped it around his bare shoulders like a cape as people on TV spent way too much money on storage units.

 

He took a long, hot shower and the last of his tension melted away. He was going to go see his mother for lunch and stop by his sister’s to spoil his nieces with some gifts. He was hoping Eugene would come with him for at least lunch but seeing how tired the man was it was probably better to just let him veg out for the day.

 

Babe made sure not to jostle the bed too much when he climbed in. He found a comfortable spot and moaned in relief when his head sank into the pillow. He didn’t fall asleep until his hand had found a resting place in the soft dip of Eugene’s back.

 

o0o

 

Babe wasn’t sure what woke him up but it didn’t take him long even in the dark to realize he was alone. He checked his phone but it hadn’t gone off. There were no messages only the bright lines of **_3:36AM_ **. He had to take a leak anyway. He found the bathroom in the dark and by the time he was washing his hands his eyes had adjusted. He washed the stale mint taste out of his mouth and when he turned off the water he realized he could still hear a sink running. He followed the sound to the kitchen.

 

Eugene was standing over the sink practically asleep on his feet. The water was running and his mouth was pressed to the stream. His bobbing throat and noisy, desperate slurps were the only reason Babe knew his boyfriend was even awake.

 

“God damn it, Gene.” Babe pattered over and wrapped an around the man’s narrow waist. “Gene, angel, you feeling okay?”

 

Eugene shook his head but he already knew the answer. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes were unfocused, there was water spilled all down his chin, he was even panting a little. Babe lead him to the bedroom and laid him down on the bed, getting him comfortable before turning on the lamp. He got the kit off the dresser and plopped down on the bed with a few mumbled curses.

 

Taking out the supplies got his hands warmed up to the routine they knew so well even if his mind was still half asleep. He put an alcohol swab packet between his teeth, shook a glucose strip out of the little container, slid it into the sleek meter, then swapped the swab out of his mouth for the non-contact end of the lancer.

 

“Don’t worry,” Babe crooned as he ripped open the packet and took up his boyfriend’s hand. Eugene’s eyes weren’t even open but he knew the man was awake and probably swamped in guilt for his petty decisions earlier. Babe nuzzled Eugene’s palm before he swabbed his middle finger. He let it dry, letting the pad lay on the empty packet, and then dropped the lancer into his hand. He made quick work of pricking the clean fingertip and made sure to keep it away from the more sensitive center.

 

Eugene winced, he always did. The small, brief pain was overly familiar but it was still pain.

 

“You’re doing good, angel, you just let me take care of you,” Babe murmured as he milked the fingertip until he got a proper bead of blood. “So good for me, Gene. You’re okay. Can you talk to me? How are you feeling?” He pressed the strip to the blood drop and set the meter aside after it was filled. There was a few seconds of processing and he spent it kissing his boyfriend’s hand and pressing the blanket to the little prick. Everything they owned had tiny little bloodstains and one more wasn’t going to hurt.

 

Eugene groaned and Babe watched the screen, scowling when he saw the results. **_HI_ **  That meant it was above five hundred. “Fuckin’ hell, Gene.”

 

Babe laid his boyfriend’s hand down and packed away all the bits of the glucose meter set. He tucked them back into the bag but pulled out an insulin pen and a one-use needle cap. He tapped the pen against Eugene’s stomach. “Hey? Want me to do it?”

 

Eugene made a wounded noise and it broke his heart. He laid his arm over his face, hiding his eyes in the crook of his arm. “Can’t sleep like this.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Give it to me,” Eugene ordered weakly, picking up his arm to reach out. His hand was visibly shaking and his face was red.

 

“How ‘bout you relax and let me do it?” Babe offered as he took the cap off the insulin pen. He checked it against the light as Eugene’s hand flopped uselessly back to the bed. The pen had about a eighty units left in it.

 

“Do eight,” Eugene slurred.

 

“Ten units,” Babe corrected. “At _least_.”

 

“Eight.”

 

“Ten,” Babe argued. “Remember last time we had this fight? You’re too high. I’m doin’ ten, I’ll check in a couple hours, then we’ll see where we are.”

 

“You got work,” Eugene grunted.

 

“Not tomorrow I don’t. And you let me worry how I spend my time, alright?” He rubbed over his boyfriend’s belly. “Gotta’ get you down now or it’ll be two fuckin’ days of you feelin’ like shit tryin’ to come down. _Ten_. Roll over.”

 

It took Eugene a minute to get himself moving but he managed. He sprawled with a groan. “Feel God awful.”

 

“I know, angel face, you just keep still and relax for me.”

 

“Nurse Edward,” he chuckled weakly.

 

“And St. Eugene.”

 

Babe peeled the seal off the needle cap and twisted it onto the pen, turning the base until the number clicked to ten. It wouldn’t be near enough to bring numbers down from that high but a fast drop would leave Eugene much worse off. He tugged the man’s boxers down so the elastic hugged under a pale, pert cheek. He patted Eugene’s ass and the man made a noise that told Babe he was smiling. Babe wiped the plump flesh with the swab he’d used before and tossed it in the bin beside their bed. He took off the first cap then the second thinner one that protected the needle.

 

Babe was admittedly terrified of needles. Even reading about them made his hands clammy. But he’s done this for Eugene lots of times and had become good at it. His fingers were steadier than they’d ever been. Sometimes when Eugene was too worn out from his shifts to do much more than flop on the couch, Babe would make him food and give him a quick shot just to make sure he wouldn’t sugar drop in his sleep or wake up with bad hunger pangs. Other times Eugene got it in his head that it just wasn’t worth eating because of the ritual of checking his sugar and taking his shot. It was a lot to handle before every meal plus the math for correcting.

 

_‘See, my sugar’s fine.’_

 

_‘Because you haven’t eaten in ten hours!’_

 

Babe pinched up the fleshy part of pale cheek and carefully slid the needle in. He laid his thumb on the plunger and put pressure. He watched the numbers go down on the dial and once it hit zero he counted to three, holding still, and then eased it out. Eugene whimpered and Babe quickly hushed him, massaging his cheek to try and dissipate the ache. Seven out of ten shots were painless and sometimes it burned or flat out hurt. It was mostly uncomfortable but there was a mental element to it. Eugene usually took it well when he could see the needle himself.

 

He hiked the man’s boxers back up before taking off the needle cap and dropping it in the sharps container they had on the nightstand.

 

“Babe,” Eugene rasped, voice cracking on a whine.

 

Babe reluctantly got up and left the bedroom. He returned with two cold water bottles straight from the fridge. Eugene tried to sit up but he was too tired from the high sugar and his long shift and his arms gave out.

 

“Stop that,” Babe griped as he scrambled back into bed. He scooped Eugene into the crook of his arm and propped him up against him back-to-chest. He cracked open one of the bottles and laid the lip against Eugene’s mouth. His boyfriend took it and took a long pull out of it. “Slow.”

 

“Piss on slow,” Eugene hissed before he kept chugging.

 

Eugene was more open with his feelings at home with Babe but he was especially grumpy and feisty when his sugar was high. The frustration of knowing he did this to himself and the general ire that came with being late diagnosed with Type 1 were always enough to turn his sweet, patient Cajun prince into a lethal gator.

 

Babe gave over the second bottle and sighed when Eugene guzzled it down. He slowed halfway through and started to lazily sip, eyes falling closed. Babe tucked the blankets around them and bunched the pillows up so they were both comfortable. Eugene grunted and tossed the empty bottle away before wrapping himself around him. Babe sucked in a surprised breath but broke into a smile. French was whispered into his chest and he caught a few words of it, something about loving him.

 

Eugene wasn’t a talkative guy at the best of times. Babe had made it his mission to learn the more subtle language of Eugene Roe. It was made up of mostly body language and under breath mumbles that weren’t always English, confusing Cajun metaphors, and curses.

 

Babe was fast becoming quite the expert interpreter.

 

o0o

 

Babe woke up to the smell of bacon and followed his nose. He’d been up twice more during the night to check Eugene’s sugar and slip him a few more units. When he’d passed out for the last time at seven his sugar was dipping just below two hundred. It was the best they could do without sending him into mock-hypoglycemia.

 

He found Eugene on the couch with two heaping plates of eggs and bacon on the coffee table in front of him. But only one piece of toast. Some sweet talking Southern lady was on the TV showing the audience how to make some butter-fried heart attacks. Eugene had his insulin pen out and held up to the light. His mouth was pursed tight and his brow was all furrowed like it did when he was mulling over something difficult.

 

Babe crawled over the back of the couch and wiggled in behind his boyfriend. Eugene moved forward a little for him to settle in and he took that as a good sign. He wrapped his arms around all that sleep-warm skin and straddled him, their thighs hugging tight.

 

“Morning,” Babe murmured as he hooked a chin over the man’s shoulder.

 

“Is all I got,” Eugene drawled, accent thick with displeased as he spun the pen around. The sun caught in the clear vial and they could both read that here was less than fifty units in it. They both knew that he didn’t have anymore pens left in the fridge and that a call to the doctor was needed.

 

“You can’t ration it,” Babe tisked.

 

“Do you know how much insulin costs? It’s liquid gold.” Eugene scrubbed a hand over his face before tossing the pen on the table. “Goddamn it. Feel hungover.”

 

He pressed a kiss to his naked shoulder. “You haven’t been that high in a long time.”

 

Eugene laid a hand on the other’s arm and gave it a squeeze. “Thank you.”

 

“No problem.” And he meant it. “You gotta’ take your meds, Gene. No getting around it.”

 

Eugene huffed.

 

“Honestly?” Babe nosed at his jaw. “You need to go on a pump.”

 

“Aye, I do,” Eugene mumbled. He thought of taking six shots a day for the rest of his life versus changing a single sight once in awhile and maybe a glucose sensor once a week. It just made sense. His stomach and thighs were sore and becoming nothing but scar tissue. It wasn’t healthy to keep the shots up in the long run, especially not with the way he’d skip meals or injections out of spite or exhaustion.

 

“You wanna’ tell me why you’ve been putting it off so long?” But Eugene stayed quiet. Babe peppered his boyfriend’s shoulder and throat with kisses to ease the tension he could feel wired all through his body. “You know there’s nothing weak about getting a pump, yeah? It’s the smart choice.”

 

“Feels like I’m giving up.”

 

The words were so quiet that Babe might’ve missed it over the sound of the TV if his mouth hadn’t been pressed right to his boyfriend’s pulse.

 

“What?” he tried to joke, shaking Eugene a little. “That’s crazy.”

 

“Don’t expect you to understand, Edward,” Eugene sighed and leaned into him.

 

Babe sobered up and laid a firm kiss to his pale shoulder. “Try me.”

 

“It feels like when I started the pens, is all. Same kind of thing.”

 

“Yeah?” he encouraged, feeling relief and heartache all at once that his boyfriend was finally opening up. “Feels like what? Spell it out to me, angel, I ain’t smart like you.”

 

“You’re much more intelligent than you let on.” Eugene cut him a look as much as he could with him over his shoulder. “And not as sneaky as you think.”

 

There was a pregnant pause between them and Babe filled the moments with more tender kisses. He rubbed over Eugene’s stomach and thumb lovingly at his sparse treasure trail. He’d kissed and licked every inch of this strong, beautiful man and he admired every piece of him from his wicked fast mind to the curve of his lips to the callouses on his palms. He loved every little injection site and bruise, every hard node of scar tissue, and every drop of blood Eugene had to spill just to stay healthy. He even loved Eugene’s broken little pancreas because he knew it was trying the best it could just like the man it lived inside.

 

“It feels like once I start, it’s all over,” Eugene finally confessed, his voice riding a watery edge as he tried not to let himself get worked up. He’d never voiced it before and it was hard. The words were carving themselves past his throat. He trusted Babe more than anyone in the world besides his mother and he knew his feelings were safe with him but that didn’t make it any less grueling, any less _bitter_. He could feel Babe’s lips against his throat and it sweetened some of the ugliness inside him. “Insulin is a forever thing. A pump...once it’s on me-”

 

Babe chuckled and Eugene bristled all over. He delivered a sharp pinch to the man’s thigh and made him yelp. “Hey!”

 

“I will kick you out of this fucking house, Edward, I swear to-”

 

“What?” Babe cut him off with fond exasperation. “Eugene, come on. You put it on and _what_ ? Your health improves with better regulated doses instead of guesswork? Your insurance covers a sensor and, _oh no_ , less finger pricks and constant, real time sugar readings?”

 

Eugene half turned in the circle of Babe’s body and stared at him with disbelief in his eyes.

 

“I’ve been ‘round you long enough to get the lingo,” Babe snorted, pressing a kiss to his boyfriend’s slack mouth. “Getting a pump is like getting a new pancreas. You’re just gonna be wearing it on the outside.”

 

Eugene grabbed him by the hair and dragged him into a firmer kiss, pouring his grateful love into it. Babe went with it and held him tight. The warm press of their chests and the playful teeth on lips sent sparks through them both.

 

“Babe,” Eugene purred as they parted, thumb rubbing just under his boyfriend’s eye. “Since when did you start making so much Goddamn sense?”

 

“Since I started dating you.”

 

“Seems about right,” Eugene hummed thoughtfully.

 

“You little shit!”

 

Eugene squealed as fingers found the ticklish underside of his arms and sides. He thrashed and kicked but Babe trapped him, cackling madly as he made his boyfriend giggle and wriggle everywhere. There was a clang and crack and they both froze as they realized Eugene’s heel had caught one of the breakfast plates. They blinked down at the mess of eggs and wasted bacon but neither moved.

 

“How unfortunate, Edward. That one was yours.”

 

“Bullshit it was. You knocked it over.”

 

“I took a shot, I have to eat. You want me to drop?”

 

Babe rolled his eyes and pushed him off his lap. “Oh _now_ you’re diabetic! Tell that to the fucking pizza you demolished last night.”

 

Eugene chuckled from the carpet, fluttering his lashes up at him.

 

“Don’t pull that. For such a tiny thing you sure can eat a lot.”

 

“Babe?”

 

“Yeah?”

  
  
“Go make me some more bacon.”

  
  
  
  



End file.
